


Sam and Bucky's Grand Adventure

by everybodylies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Humor, Racism, Searching for Bucky, Winter Falcon, set during aou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodylies/pseuds/everybodylies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is away when Sam finds the Winter Soldier. This does not bode well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam and Bucky's Grand Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t actually seen Age of Ultron, yet (yeah, yeah, I know), so who knows if this is actually canon or not? *throws confetti* anyway, this is set during aou while Sam is looking for Bucky by himself.

**Toledo, Spain, HYDRA base, 6:54 PM**

_Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit—_

Sam, for reasons unknown even to him, decides to glance backwards as he sprints down the hallway. Thanks to his brilliant decision, he is confronted with a beautiful view of a dozen HYDRA agents all right on his tail. Lungs heaving, he wills his feet to move faster.

He’s not sure where it all went wrong. It had been a simple plan: sneak into the HYDRA base command center using the vents, download any intel on the Winter Soldier to assist with Sam’s search for him, and then activate the self-destruct and haul ass out of there.

Actually, Sam does know where it all went wrong. It all went wrong when Sam was crawling through the vents, as planned, and when he turned the corner, he came across some goddamn HYDRA janitor who just _happened_ to be sticking his head up into the vents and cleaning out a nest of rats at the same exact time that Sam had decided to blow the base up. Like seriously? That’s not even Sam’s fault. It’s just damn bad luck that his plan was completely ruined.

Well, not completely. He _is_ hauling ass right now, after all.

Sam knocks down some carts behind him and buys himself a couple seconds. A door blocks his path, and he shoots through the keypad lock. On the other side of the door, he turns the corner, and—

—he’s pulled to the side into a dark supply closet, and a hand is clamped over his mouth.

“Shh,” a man whispers. “I’m here to help.”

“Mmph mmph?” Sam says. Translated: the fuck?

_“Shh!”_

Well, if Sam has to choose between twelve definitely evil HYDRA agents and one probably evil man in a supply closet, he’s gonna choose—oh, who is he kidding? Sam doesn’t have a choice; there are some pretty strong arms holding him into place.

Sam hears the sound of running footsteps pass them, and then silence. He feels relief for one blissful millisecond—and then his stomach turns to ice.

The hand over his mouth is metal. Sam’s eyes slowly swivel to the right.

In the darkness, the Winter Soldier winks at him.

* * *

“So… are you, like, better now?”

“Define better,” the Winter Soldier grunts, while he fires out the doorway of the command center at approaching HYDRA agents.

“Like, are you gonna murder me?”

The Winter Soldier ducks behind a console. As he reloads, he gives Sam a heated look. “Pal, that’s the dumbest question I’ve heard since 1937.”

“Right. I can see that,” Sam says, returning his attention to the screen in front of him. He searches through menu after menu for the self-destruct sequence. Why is this so difficult? Isn’t there just supposed to be a giant red button on the dashboard that says “Self-Destruct”? Steve says that’s how it was in World War II. The good old days.

“I’m out of bullets,” the Winter Soldier announces.

Sam pulls a pistol off his belt and tosses it without looking. It hits the Winter Soldier solidly in the back of his skull with a thunk.

“I lied,” the Winter Soldier says, rubbing the sore spot. “I am going to murder you.”

“Don’t joke about that, man!” Sam shrieks.

* * *

They’re a good distance away, when the base blows. Sam ducks behind a tree for cover, but the Winter Soldier—the weirdo—just stands and watches the blast with cold eyes.

“Alright,” the Winter Soldier says after. He extends a hand towards Sam. “Nice working with you. See you later.”

Sam doesn’t take the hand. “Wh-what? Where the Hell are you going?” he asks, baffled.

“To… destroy…all the other HYDRA bases…?” the Winter Soldier says slowly, as if _Sam’s_ the one being weird right now.

“Well, that’s what I’m doing, too. We can work together.”

The Winter Soldier quickly shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous. I’m on the run; HYDRA’s been after me 24/7. You shouldn’t get dragged into that.”

“Pfft.” Sam stands up straight and points an angry finger at the Winter Soldier. “Okay, number one, I can handle HYDRA.” The Winter Soldier raises an eyebrow, probably recalling the fact that he’d found Sam in a HYDRA base about to be stampeded. Whatever. “Number two, if Steve—”at the mere mention of Steve, the Winter Soldier’s shoulders slump, and he begins to look a bit wobbly, “—finds out that I found you while he wasn’t here, and I just let you _walk away five minutes later_ , he is going to be _beyond pissed_.” Actually, Steve probably wouldn’t be pissed at all. He’d probably just get a real sad look on his face and then go cry in his room for an hour, which would be even worse. “And number three—”

Sam takes a good, hard look at the Winter Soldier. His face is unshaven, streaked with dirt and blood. His eyes are sunken in, and his hands are shaking ever so slightly. Worst of all, his clothes look like they’re hanging off him, about two sizes too big. _And number three, I don’t think you’re taking good enough care of yourself._ The Winter Soldier—no, Bucky, he saved Sam’s life; the least Sam could do is start thinking of him as an actual person—does not look like he can go on like this.

“And number three,” Sam begins again, “I hate having to eat alone. You hungry? I’m hungry. Let’s grab a bite. I’m buying.”

* * *

**Toledo, Spain, McDonald’s, 9:36 PM**

“I remember bits and pieces,” Bucky tells him, as he wolfs down fries, seven or eight at a time. Sam looks on with a strange mixture of satisfaction and disgust. “I remember Steve and Brooklyn and the war. And I remember… after…” Bucky’s face twists into a frown, and Sam doesn’t know what to say. “And I remember you,” Bucky continues, looking at Sam. “I remember fighting you on the helicarrier. Sorry about your wings, by the way.”

Sam shrugs. “Eh, no biggie. You just owe the U.S. government, like, a couple million dollars, or whatever.”

Bucky puts down his fries and digs his palms into his eyes. “But I just remember the bare bones of it,” he moans. “I can’t remember the names of the people I killed. I can’t remember how many sisters I had. I can’t remember my own mother’s voice. Fuck, I can’t, I can’t—”

“Whoa, there, Bucky.” Sam stops him before he can distress himself any more. He tries to pry Bucky’s hands off his face. “Bucky—can I call you Bucky?”

Bucky looks up at him and frowns. “I don’t know if I feel like Bucky.”

“Barnes?” Sam tries. “Do you feel like Barnes?” When he gets no response, he continues. “James? Jimmy? Jimbo? Jimster—”

“Okay, just stop,” Bucky cuts in. “Call me Bucky. Please.”

“Look, Bucky, getting your memories back is gonna be a long process. HYDRA did who knows what to your brain. The fact that you remember anything at all is encouraging. I mean, you’re already so different from the person I met in DC all those months ago, it’s amazing. And you did it all on your own, without any help.”

Bucky stares into the distance thoughtfully.

“Also, you had three sisters,” Sam offers. “You’re welcome.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him.

“I might have done a book report on you in the second grade.”

Suddenly Bucky’s eyes widen, and he pushes Sam’s head downwards, directly into his uneaten Big Mac.

“Wha?” Sam says, as he hears a bullet whistling through the air where his head used to be. They take cover under the table, and Sam wipes lettuce off his face.

“ _Really?_ You had to push my face _into_ my burger? That was your _only_ option?”

Bucky’s eyes are smug. “I _told_ you this would be dangerous.”

* * *

“Shouldn’t we… be trying to find whoever shot at us?” Sam asks Bucky at the train station.

Bucky pockets his newly bought tickets and shakes his head. “No point. It’s HYDRA: you cut off one head, they grow two more. Every time I take one out, there’s always another one right behind them. It’s a waste of ammo. More efficient to just take out the bases.”

They sit down on one of the benches to await the train, when Sam notices a dark red stain on Bucky’s right arm.

“Shit, man!” Sam exclaims, grabbing the wounded arm and pulling aside the sleeve. “You’re bleeding! You didn’t tell me you got hit.”

Bucky yanks his arm back. “I was grazed.”

Sam fixes Bucky with a skeptical look, and Bucky leans away from him. “Well, it’s bleeding a lot for just a graze, so let’s go patch that up—”

“It’ll heal on its own.”

 _Goddamn supersoldiers who think they’re so hot._ “Okay, maybe, but what if it gets infected?”

“The Winter Soldier does not get infections.”

“Ha. ‘The Winter Soldier does not get infections,’” Sam mocks under his breath. “Even if that was true, you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore, remember?”

That stops Bucky. He leans back towards Sam. He looks tired.

“Look, I got a first aid kit in my bag. Let’s just go to the restroom; it’ll be quick.”

On the train ride, Bucky falls asleep on Sam’s shoulder, and he looks peaceful for once. He wonders how often the man sleeps.

Sam wrinkles his nose. He wonders how often he bathes, too.

* * *

**Fundão, Portugal, HYDRA base, 7:32 PM**

He and Bucky split up to do a reconnaissance of the perimeter and then meet back behind a large rock.

“So, how do you usually infiltrate?” Bucky whispers.

“The vents, mostly.”

“ _The vents?_ What, do you think you’re in a fucking spy movie or something?”

“How do you even know about those movies? You were frozen!”

Bucky just gives him a knowing look.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says quickly. “Their vents are too small. What about you?”

“I usually go in through the sewers.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?

“Nothing.”

“But there are no exterior pipes. That’s not going to work either.”

They fall into silence. As they think, a pair of HYDRA guards exits the building for a smoke break. Apparently the guards at this base wear black helmets that cover the top halves of their faces.

Bucky nudges Sam with his shoulder. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That HYDRA uniforms are butt ugly?”

“No! I mean, well, yes, but no!” He waggles his eyebrows at Sam. “We sneak in using those guards’ uniforms.”

“Nuh-uh, that’s not gonna work.”

“What? Why not?”

“Dude, I’m black.”

“Come on,” Bucky scoffs. “There are black people in HYDRA. You fucking met one of them! Jasper Sitwell, ring a bell?”

“Sitwell was a light-skinned brother,” Sam explains. “Meanwhile, I’m more of a deep mahogany.”

Bucky gives Sam a look that says, “Did you really just describe your skin tone using the words ‘deep mahogany’?”

“Trust me, you’ll be fine,” he says. And before Sam can say anything else, Bucky sneaks off and knocks out the two guards.

“Trust the white boy, alright,” Sam mutters.

They’re quickly dressing in the uniforms, when the radio on Sam’s belt crackles to life.

“Control to post 60 and 61, is the perimeter all clear?”

Sam yanks the radio off his belt and thrusts it at Bucky. “Answer it!” he whispers urgently.

“You answer it!” Bucky hisses, flapping his hand at Sam.

Sam clutches the radio tightly and holds it up to his mouth. “Uh, control, 60 and 61 are all clear,” he says into the receiver. He pauses. Was that enough? It didn’t feel like enough. “Uh, hail HYDRA,” he adds. In the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky put his face into his hands.

The radio emits a crackly sigh. “Yes, Bart, thank you. Hail HYDRA,” says a tired voice.

Bucky stares at Sam and slowly shakes his head.

“I panicked!”

* * *

In their borrowed uniforms, Sam and Bucky proceed down the hallways without incident, until an old man in a lab coat steps in front of them. He squints at Sam through his dusty glasses and smiles.

“Ah, I did not know we had hired one of you!” he exclaims.

 _One of you? Seriously?_ Sam tries to give Bucky the dirtiest look possible while still smiling at the old man. Bucky simply shrugs helplessly.

“Yes, I’m, uh, new on the job.”

“I’m showing him around,” Bucky explains. He leans towards the man. “You gotta talk real clear and slow with these guys, am I right?” Bucky and the man share a hearty laugh.

“Ha,” Sam says.

“It’s always good to see some of… your kind… with HYDRA,” the man says to Sam, reaching over to put a gross old hand on Sam’s forearm. “Those who can see that there is a greater good beyond themselves. I’ve always believed that at least a few of you exist.”

“Yes, but only a few, sir!” Sam jokes unhappily. “Since we are an inferior race!!”

Bucky’s hand tightens on Sam’s shoulder. _Tone it down_.

“Well, I should really let you boys get back to it. Hail HYDRA.”

Sam and Bucky nod. “Hail HYDRA.”

“That was the worst,” Sam mutters, as they half run, half walk away.

Bucky claps a warm hand on Sam’s back with a little too much supersoldier force. “Think about it, he’ll be dead in five minutes.”

“Good point,” Sam shrugs.

* * *

Once they’re out of the blast radius, Bucky turns around to do his “cool guys do look at explosions” shtick, and Sam decides to join him. They watch as the HYDRA base disappears into a fiery cloud of dust.

Something stirs within Sam. He cups his hands to his mouth and shouts, “Fuck you, racists!”

Beside him, Bucky raises two middle fingers to the rubble in solidarity.

* * *

They cruise along the highway in a stolen HYDRA car, and Sam is driving because he insisted.

“Threw a fit, more like,” Bucky mutters.

“I did not throw a fit. I just pointed out, very calmly, that you have been frozen since the 1940’s, so you are probably not a good driver.”

“Fuck you, I’m a great driver,” Bucky retorts. “Also, as I keep trying to tell you, I wasn’t frozen the entire time.”

“Where are we headed?” Sam asks.

“Well, the next closest HYDRA base is in France, so—”

“Wrong!” Sam exclaims, and Bucky gives him a strange look. “We are headed to—drumroll, please—a motel! So I can get a good night’s sleep, and you can get a bath.”

“But HYDRA—”

“—can wait! My sense of smell, though, cannot.”

Bucky falls silent and has seemingly given up. But he’s eyeing the steering wheel, and Sam notices. Oh, he notices. He has a war flashback to the time he was driving with Steve, Nat, and a kidnapped Sitwell, when suddenly the Evil Metal Hand of Death came punching through the roof and grabbed the steering wheel right out of his hands.

Sam shudders, then sits up straight. “Hey, you even _think_ about touching this steering wheel, so help me God.”

Bucky grumpily leans back into his seat.

* * *

**Viseu, Portugal, a motel, 9:00 AM**

“This, here, is shampoo. You’re gonna need a lot, so hold onto that. This is the conditioner. You need that to keep your long, flowing mane nice and silky. Here’s the soap.” Sam slides the new bar of soap out of the box. “Let me know if that’s not enough; I can run down to the front desk and get more.”

Bucky does not respond, only glares at Sam with gradually increasing intensity.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help, man. You were brainwashed for fifty years. You might have forgotten what all this stuff is.”

More glaring.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving.”

Sam settles down in the desk chair and checks his phone. He’s got four texts from Steve, about one every twelve hours.

 _Alive._  
_Alive._  
_Still alive._  
_Pissd off at Tony, but still alive. U?_

Sam breathes a sigh of relief, and he begins typing his reply.

_Same. Dont worry about me. Took out 2 more HYDRA bases._

He pauses, considers telling him about Bucky, but decides it’s best not to distract him.

 _I’ll keep you updated_ , he adds. He presses send and picks up the newspaper.

Fifteen minutes later, Bucky comes out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel and looking gloriously clean.

“We’re out of soap,” he tells Sam.

Sam’s eyes widen. “Wait, seriously?”

“No,” Bucky replies dryly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He turns the TV on, starts flipping through channels. His legs are spread wide in the towel, and Sam determinedly fixes his gaze on his newspaper. He and Bucky have bonded a lot the past few days, but he’s not so sure they’ve bonded enough to see each other’s junk.

Bucky absentmindedly tosses the remote control into the air and then catches it. “You know, Sam, I’m surprised,” he says, offhand. “This whole time, you never tried to convince me to go see Steve.”

Sam shrugs, puts down the newspaper. “Yeah, well, you never talked about it, so I figured you didn’t want to. And besides, Steve’s busy with the whole robot apocalypse thing, y’know, so I didn’t—”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“…Oh, you didn’t know…? Steve and the rest of the Avengers are dealing with some big… robot disaster right now…”

_“Steve’s in trouble?”_

* * *

**Manhattan, New York City, Avengers Tower, 7:23 pm**

Sam steps out of the elevator onto Steve’s floor, and Steve, on the couch, turns to look at him.

“Sam! You’re here!” Steve, looking happily surprised, springs to his feet, walks over, and claps Sam on the back. “You know, you missed all the exciting stuff.”

“Oh, I had plenty of excitement of my own,” Sam replies ominously. He turns around and stares at the empty elevator, confused. It definitely was _not_ empty on the way up. “I got you a present, Rogers. Or at least, I thought I did…”

“From Europe?”

“No, from Brooklyn actually.” He sighs, then calls out to the open elevator doors, “Ey, buddy, stop hidin’. I know you’re in there.”

At Sam’s beckoning, Bucky pokes his head out. _He looks very clean_ , Sam congratulates himself. Steve goes still beside him.

“Buck?” The voice thin, fragile.

“Hey, Steve.”

The elevator starts to beep because the doors have been open too long. Slowly, Bucky walks towards Steve, who is frozen in place. Finally, finally, Steve reaches for Bucky and Bucky reaches back.

“I’ll, uh, give you two some space,” Sam says, as the two men hold each other and burst into tears.

Sam heads down to Nat’s floor. They have a drink and chat for a while until Steve and Bucky show up after an hour of doing who knows what.

“Sam,” Steve says, eyes still red from crying, “thank you, so much for bringing him back to me.”

Well, Sam can’t really take credit for that. He didn’t really bring Bucky back, more like Bucky yelled at him for a while and then dragged him across the ocean by the ear. Sam can’t take credit for finding Bucky either. Bucky found him and saved his life at the same time. But he did take care of Bucky, bathed him, stitched him up, made him sleep, and that might have been the hardest job of all. Sam doesn’t want to think about what might have happened to Bucky if Sam hadn't been there.

“Yeah, man, of course,” Sam says, as Steve pulls him into a giant hug. “Of course.”

They withdraw from the hug, only to find Bucky crossing his arms and refusing to look at Sam.

“Uh,” Steve says, “Are you guys…?”

“Sam and I are in a fight,” Bucky announces, and Sam rolls his eyes.

Steve chuckles nervously and looks back and forth between his two friends. “Really.”

“Sam neglected to inform me that you were in danger.”

“It was _all_ over the news,” Sam fires back. “It’s not my fault you were too busy slamming burgers into my face to glance at a newspaper or something—”

“Honestly, Steve, where the Hell did you find this guy?”

“Oh, you know where Steve found me? He found me by the side of the road after _he ran me to death_ —”

Steve’s grin is almost too large for his face to contain. He slings an arm around each of them. “I can tell you two are going to be great friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think here or on my [tumblr](http://coldtea.tumblr.com//)!


End file.
